Chapter 746: Hollywood Bans Depp,

In the grand conference room at Disney Studios, Damien Chazelle sat at the head of the long table, his nerves jangling like the strings of a violin. The door swung open, and four figures entered, casting imposing shadows against the polished walls.

Damien recognized the first two immediately: Louise Meyer, the seasoned producer, and the radiant Hollywood icon, Martin Davis. But the presence of the two unfamiliar women at the back piqued his curiosity.

With a warm smile, Louise made the introductions, linking their names with a graceful gesture. Martin's eyes, the color of polished onyx, fixed on Damien, his voice a smooth, commanding baritone. "Director Chazelle, your drummer short film was a stroke of genius."

Heart pounding, Damien seized the moment, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Mr. Davis, I've been hunting for backing for my feature film. But with no luck. I had to resort to making a short film and sending it out like a message in a bottle."

He glanced at Martin, his pitch poised on a razor's edge. "$3 million is all I need. I can bring this vision to life."

As Damien spoke, Mia and Mandy Moore exchanged puzzled glances. They had anticipated discussing "La La Land," not this unexpected turn of events.

Pressing forward, Damien added, "I'm even willing to part with the copyright for a mere dollar."

Martin raised a hand, his eyes flickering with intrigue. "Do you have the script?"

From his bag, Damien produced the precious manuscript, a labor of love nestled within its pages. Martin accepted it with a nod, his focus now solely on the story before him.

As Martin delved into the script, the room seemed to hold its breath. The title, "Whiplash," leapt from the cover, a promise of intensity and passion.

Skimming through the pages, Martin's gaze danced from beginning to end, absorbing every beat of the narrative. The tale of the drummer and his relentless mentor unfolded before him like a captivating melody.

With a decisive nod, Martin returned the script to Damien, his mind made up. "This will be 'Crackling Drummer,'" he declared, his voice brimming with certainty.

With negotiations and interviews concluded, Martin turned to Damien, his eyes alight with possibility. "We'll discuss the copyright transfer shortly," he promised. "And yes, you'll direct."

Relief flooded Damien as he watched Martin leave, his path now illuminated by the flickering promise of collaboration. "Thank you," he murmured, the weight of uncertainty lifting from his shoulders.

Martin's affirmation was like a balm to Damien's soul, his relief palpable in the air.

As the negotiations unfolded, Jessica, Damien's agent, arrived swiftly, her determined stride echoing in the bustling corridors of the studio. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as the two parties settled in for the intricate dance of deal-making.

Meanwhile, Martin and Louise retreated to confer, their minds abuzz with the possibilities laid bare by Damien's vision. Mia, still captivated by the young director's ideas, voiced her conviction to Martin, her words a testament to the creative synergy they had discovered.

Martin, ever the strategist, inclined his head thoughtfully. "Let's see the footage first," he suggested, his gaze shimmering with anticipation.

Amidst the whirlwind of negotiations, Damien's agent navigated the treacherous waters of contract talks, securing the rights to "Whiplash" for a substantial sum. Though Damien had offered the script for a mere token fee, Jessica deftly negotiated for a more favorable arrangement, ensuring her client's future prosperity.

Over lunch, Martin and Harris huddled together, their voices low in conversation as they plotted their next move. Harris, ever the pragmatist, outlined their strategy with cool precision, his words a testament to his keen insight into the volatile world of real estate.

Martin nodded, his trust in Harris unwavering. "Make it happen," he urged, his eyes gleaming with the promise of success.

With a confident smile, Harris suggested a bold new venture, his words tinged with excitement as they contemplated the possibilities that lay ahead.

"Take it slow, no need to rush," Martin mused, his thoughts drifting to a snippet of news he'd stumbled upon. "Send someone to London, England, to reach out to JK Rowling. Word has it, before she vanished into seclusion to pen her latest masterpiece, she had a keen eye on Depp's two-masted antique yacht. Depp was oblivious to its potential sale at the time, and eventually relinquished it."

"I'll dispatch someone to the UK," Martin affirmed, his gaze distant as he weighed the possibilities. "Ultimately, it's a matter of taste. For the right buyer, price is of little consequence."

It was common knowledge that JK Rowling's coffers overflowed thanks to the stratospheric success of the Harry Potter series, her name etched among the wealthiest women in the UK.

As Martin left the eatery, his phone buzzed to life, Saoirse Ronan's name flashing on the screen.

"Teacher, are you free tonight?" Her voice was buoyant, the anticipation palpable. "Since you missed my eighteenth birthday bash, I'm extending a solo invitation."

Martin chuckled. "I'll be there. Where to?"

"I'll ping you the location," Saoirse replied before disconnecting.

Shortly after, Martin received a digital map pinpointing a secluded villa outside Beverly Hills, not the typical dining spot.

"I'll swing by around 6:30," Martin texted back.

Behind the wheel, Bruce relayed a piece of news he'd picked up during Martin's meal. "A few production companies interested in collaborating with Depp on film projects have backed out."

Martin nodded knowingly. "Its Expected. Domestic issues could be shrugged off, but two box office flops in a row? No sane studio would touch him."

Bruce added, "Depp's film earnings won't dig him out of this financial hole."

Martin smirked. "That's the silver lining."

In the bustling halls of Lionsgate Studios, McCormick, the company's shrewd business president, cast a pointed glance at his deputy, Andrew, before turning to address director David Cape. "You were quite adamant about Johnny Depp for the lead role. Given the circumstances, that might not be the wisest choice."

The air crackled with tension as Lionsgate geared up for their latest comedic venture, "Aristocrats," helmed by David Cape himself.

David remained unruffled, seeing Depp's tarnished reputation as a blessing in disguise. "Using Depp now would be akin to setting off a landmine before we even start filming," he reasoned calmly.

McCormick concurred, his voice firm. "Depp won't be part of any future Lionsgate projects."

Andrew chimed in, his tone brimming with approval. "A smart decision, sir."

As they discussed, news trickled in from the box office trenches. "Transcendence" limped out of North American theaters with a mere $21.54 million to its name, while "The Lone Ranger" fared even worse, falling short of expectations with a lackluster performance.

Meanwhile, across town at Warner Pictures in Burbank, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation as the renowned producer Brian Oliver pitched his latest project, "Black Mass," to Jon Berg, known for his creative acumen.

Yet even Berg, usually a font of innovation, found himself momentarily stymied by the mention of Depp's name.

Jon Berg's gaze lingered on the list of potential leading men, his cursor hovering over the name Johnny Depp. With a decisive click, he made his stance clear, addressing the room with unwavering authority. "Effective immediately, Warner Pictures will no longer engage in any projects involving Johnny Depp, not even in supporting roles."

Assistant McDonald dutifully recorded the directive, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

Brian Oliver, sensing the weight of the decision, tentatively broached the subject of Christian Bale as a replacement. "What about Bale?" he ventured.

Jon Berg's expression soured at the mention of Bale, recalling the actor's missteps in "Pharaohs and the Gods." Despite his reservations, he relented under Brian Oliver's persuasive arguments, agreeing to grant Bale an audition for the lead role in "Black Mass."

That afternoon, a ripple of consensus spread across the various divisions within Warner Bros., with Warner Pictures, Legendary Pictures, New Line Cinema, and others unanimously pledging to sever ties with Johnny Depp. This decision echoed through the corridors of other major studios like Twentieth Century Fox, Paramount Pictures, Universal Pictures, and Sony Columbia, forming an unspoken pact against the troubled actor.

For an artist embroiled in scandal, shunned by both public and media alike, the repercussions were inevitable.

News of the industry-wide embargo spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of reporters and eventually finding its way to Johnny Depp's doorstep. Though Hollywood hadn't officially blacklisted him, the effect was the same, a silent ban in disguise.

That fateful night, amidst the echo of shattered guitars, Johnny Depp's personal demons reared their ugly heads once more. Reports of a drug and alcohol overdose circulated, met with little sympathy from a public quick to cast him as a fallen star rather than a valiant struggler against addiction.

To many, he wasn't a fighter battling his demons; he was simply another casualty of excess, a label that would prove difficult to shake.